


Hold Me ‘Til I’m Sober

by SomethingRoyal



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Mentions of Alcohol Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 06:18:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16191800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomethingRoyal/pseuds/SomethingRoyal
Summary: "I'm sorry.""I know."~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~After a bad loss, you pick up the pieces, swear to do better, and move on. Sometimes, though, there are no words that could make things better in that moment, and the pieces on the floor are best left there until morning.





	Hold Me ‘Til I’m Sober

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! So that game was.....not good. If you know what I'm talking about, great. If not, I'm sure you'll get the gist. 
> 
> So this was speed written in 3 hours starting at 11pm so I did my best to edit mistakes, but you'll have to forgive, me if I miss some. If you see any, please let me know- I'll be happy to fix them.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy, and as always, leave a like/comment if you'd like! I'm always happy to hear from you! :)
> 
> Enjoy!

Brad entered the locker room full of rage. _A game ejection?_ _A fucking game ejection?_ Brad was livid at how that qualified as an ejection but it meant fuck all when they just embarrassed themselves like that. Luckily Brad didn’t have to wait long until his sentence of solitude was served. The team filed in, some trudging in emotionless others carrying in a hurricane of emotion. Brad was the latter at the moment, throwing his gloves and pads at his stall like they had been the ones who just humiliated him. There was no “we’ll be better next time”, there was no positive take away. No one said a word of comfort and no one tried to. Bruce came and went with only one remark about talking in Buffalo.

Brad perched tensely on the ends of his stall, most of his gear still on, eyes darting around the room with stormy rage. He didn’t want to take his skates off; it still felt like there was a game to be played because lord knew he didn’t play in one tonight. His eyes settled out of habit on Bergy who was taking off his equipment with little emotion. He must have felt his eyes on him though because he looked up to meet Brad’s eyes. Fiery hatred stared at ice cold fury. It was a battle Brad knew he shouldn’t have started and one he knew he wouldn’t win.

Patrice finished putting every physical reminder of that game that he could away in duffel bag before walking over to Brad. He didn't look at Patrice which he expected, so he knelt down to start untying Brad's skates instead.The two were silent for a moment before Brad had had enough of it.

“Say it,” Brad said with venom, eyes dark with the need to tear someone apart or be torn apart. Patrice didn’t take the bait though. He knew what Brad wanted and it wouldn’t make either of them feel better, so he kept his eyes on the white laces in front of him.

“You don’t want that tonight Brad. Talk about why you’re upset, sure, or scream because you're angry, fine, but you don’t want that tonight,” he answered evenly. Had he been looking, Patrice would have seen Brad’s eyes flash with anger.

“What if I do huh?” He snapped with no real threat behind it.

Patrice just sighed softly and looked up after freeing Brad’s feet from the skates. They shared a silent moment, eyes betraying every thought they needed to say.

                   _I’m sorry / I know you are_

_I’ll be better next time / I know you’ll be_

It was Brad who looked away first, knowing his boyfriend was right; there would be a time and a place to talk about tonight, but it wasn’t here or now. They both had their silent apologizes, and for now, it would be enough.

“Where’s Tuukka?” asked Bergy changing the subject, the edge finally dissipating from his voice. He wanted to go home and hold his boyfriends close and forget this night for now.

Brad opened his mouth to answer, but shut it promptly when he realized he didn’t know the answer.

“Didn’t you see him here when…” Bergy trailed off alluding to the ejection.

“No, I- he was still on the bench, I passed him, but I didn’t see him when you all came in.” answered Brad.

With the dots quickly connecting, Patrice’s anger and frustration at the shit show that night went away faster than he could say 7-0 shutout. One of his boyfriends was unaccounted for which made him a nervous wreck on a good day, and knowing the circumstances, Patrice didn’t have to look at Brad to know where their missing piece was… or what he was doing. The two hurried out of their gear and tore a path to Bergy’s car, the saint breaking a few traffic laws in his haste to get home. His hands gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, eyes trained on the road. How could he have not thought about Tuukka?

Patrice fumbled with the keys to the front door of Tuukka’s house. They both guessed he’d go there but it was just as Patrice's hand touched the handle a thought flashed through Brad's mind: what if he wasn’t there? When Tuukka drew in on himself like this, he was unpredictable. They all had their flaws- their post-loss, unhealthy coping mechanisms- but they had all made a concerted effort to make sure no one was alone when they fell into those head-spaces. Tuukka could be especially tricky because he was so good at slipping through Brad or Patrice's fingers, escaping to the bottom of some dark hole before the other two even knew he was falling. Right now, Tuukka had been alone for at least an hour, maybe more, and the thought made Brad more sick than after watching that game. Patrice had read all of this in Brad's eyes and placed a hand over his comfortingly. _No more blame tonight._ Brad gave a small nod in reply.

When Patrice opened the door, the house was completely dark. Brad wasted no time and stepped through the pitch black house, feet walking out of memory to the kitchen and turned on a light. Patrice had followed him once the front door was closed, and the two of them paused for just one moment. Bergy knew Brad would love to be shouting the Finn’s name throughout the house, searching wildly for him, but Brad also knew better. He looked to Patrice to take the lead on this fearing he may do more harm than good should he go on a wild goose chase for someone who probably wants to stay lost. It was then that Patrice’s eye was caught on a reflection from the back patio door. He didn’t spare Brad a glance to silently let him know what he was thinking before shrugging off his coat and making his way to the back.

As he drew closer, what he thought he saw became clearer. There Tuukka was, back facing the glass, not hunched over, but carefully situated over something in front on him, posture screaming of hurt and despondence. Patrice opened the door with a sharp whoosh of air which in the dead silence, sounded much louder. The fact that Tuukka didn’t flinch wasn’t all that surprising. From his vantage point, Patrice could see it all clearly. Tuukka with his forearms resting on the table, a more than half empty bottle of whiskey standing tall in between. His head didn’t hang low like his shoulders though. No, his sharp jaw was level with the table, eyes so empty yet holding so much contempt. Patrice was afraid to make another move or make another sound. Tuukka seemed to be balanced on  knife's edge, perfectly poised to snap at any moment. But it never came. Tonight, Patrice had realized in the tense silence that Tuukka had fallen long before he got there.

“You should never have kept me around.” Tuukka’s voice was soft yet broken all at once, no doubt the alcohol making his voice smooth, but what Patrice guessed were tears made Tuukka’s voice waver on the edge of something dangerous. He didn’t know if Tuukka was talking to him or to the Bruins management, but either way, it settled no easier on Patrice’s mind.

“I don’t know why I thought they were wrong. They’re not. I don’t belong here,” he continued, the hairline fractures in his voice growing larger with each word.

If Patrice’s heart was broken at the sigh of his lover, than hearing him sound so dejected and lost tore it right out of his chest. Tuukka turned to face Patrice finally, a tear slowly making its way down his face.

“I never belonged here.”

Patrice wasn’t sure if it was himself who pulled Tuukka in or if it was Tuukka who fell into Patrice. Either way, Tuukka’s face melted into Patrice’s strong chest, the forward wrapping his arms around Tuukka’s now sobbing body, both holding on as if life depended on it. Patrice held him has Tuukka's tears soaked their way through his shirt, small whimpers escaping only to be swallowed up by the cotton his damp shirt. He let Tuukka go, as much as it pained him to be silent. Patrice knew that there had been too much bottled up and it needed to come out on its own. After what seemed like an eternity, the last of Tuukka's tears dissolved into small hiccups as the Finn tried to slow his breathing. Something was still lurking in that mind of his though, and Patrice only hoped Tuukka would let it out of its dark cage.

“Wydyoulovffme?” Tuukka’s small voice asked. The words were almost inaudible, the fabric of his shirt distorting the already muffled words, but Patrice needed no translation. He gently cupped Tuukka’s face in his hand, gently guiding him to look up. Bergy sunk to one knee so he could look at Tuukka head on, almost getting lost in those green eyes that still looked so beautiful when shining with tears.

“Because you are the light of my life,” Patrice whispered softly, his words carrying the weight of all he couldn’t say if he had until the end of time. He wiped away a stray tear off of Tuukka's face as it fell with his thumb, gently stroking his cheek. “and because you are worth it.”

Patrice drew Tuukka in once more and pressed a kiss into Tuukka’s short hair, lingering there for a moment to breathe in deeply. Tuukka shuddered at the sensation. Finally feeling anchored in place, Tuukka wrapped his arms around Patrice as he tucked Tuukka under his chin, breathing in the comforting scent of his boyfriend.

Until this point, Brad had stayed at the edge of the patio, fighting his instincts. He knew what Tuukka needed, and that was for Brad to be patient. But then he saw Tuukka pitch forward and Patrice hold him onto him securely, watching him sob into Patrice’s chest. Brad couldn’t stand back any longer. He made his way behind Tuukka and draped his body over him, but not overbearingly so, and planted a kiss at the base of Tuukka’s neck. His nose lightly pressed to Tuukka’s back, Brad felt Tuukka reach up and grab his hand and squeeze, and he melted into Tuukka just a bit more. It seemed his timing and patience had been perfect.

“I’m sorry,” Tuukka said after a while, head still ducked underneath Patrice's chin. Bergy looked to Brad and the two simply nodded. Brad squeezed Tuukka’s hand just a little bit harder and Patrice drew them all just a bit closer.

“We know,” Patrice said lightly.

None of them knew how long they stayed like that for, but it didn’t matter. There were no excuses that night, no lay of blame or stern rants about how it’s wasn’t so and so’s fault. They didn’t need that right now- all they needed was each other. It wouldn't have been right to say anymore than was said that night for they all knew what the other wished they could say and what they said in the space between them. Eventually, they all ended up pressed close to one another in their bed, hands all intertwined. Tonight, nothing would be able to break them apart, and come morning, they’d pick up the pieces of one another and move on.


End file.
